The Dance We Do
by Lizzieturbo
Summary: Sometimes in life, you can't move forward without looking back. Our Southern Couple take a trip to the Big Easy, where they learn that EVERYONE has a Beginning. Sequel to "Normal". ROMY
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I do not own X-men: Evolution. Or any of the characters. But you knew that already, didn't you?_

Hello. I'm back. And yeah, yeah, I know... it's been a long effing time. I was just waiting for all the residual checks to come from "Normal" before I started writing again, and what do you know, it turns out you don't actually make a profit from writing and publishing fanfiction. Go figure. So... here we go. Without further ado, The Sequel.

_By the way, this chapter is dedicated to Kinetically Charmed, my Canadian Soulmate and official Kitty-fier. Seriously, she fixed my Kitty for this chapter, which I promise is not as dirty as it sounds. If you are not already reading "The Beautiful Mind of Kitty Pryde" than there might be something seriously wrong with you and I highly recommend that you go look it up, pour yourself a nice cold glass of Diet Coke, put your phone on silent, and get ready for a dang good read. After you read and review _this_, of course._

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><p><em>Give your heart and soul to me<br>__And life will always be  
><em>_La Vie En Rose  
><em>-La Vie En Rose, Louie Armstrong

Remy LeBeau was married, and it was weird as hell. Not that it was bad, because it wasn't. It wasn't bad. It was just... different. Different than he thought it would be. Quite frankly, he _thought_ that being married would mean that he would suddenly know what the hell he was doing, feel a little more secure and comfortable in the relationship, and after three months the fact was, he just didn't.

But again, it wasn't all bad, being married. He liked living with Rogue. A lot. True, he'd lived with Rogue for a while, at the mansion. But now they _lived together_ in a tight little area, in the same room in the same bed, and it was good. For one thing, that close proximity, the privacy it afforded, and the ease in which Rogue could control her powers for him now all added up to, well, sex. Lots of it. They were newlyweds, for heaven's sake, it was practically the law that they fornicate like rabbits. But beyond the sex (and yes, there was a beyond), he just liked having her right up in his space. The Professor had been generous enough to renovate the back few rooms up on the third floor into a little pseudo-mother-in-law apartment for them. It wasn't much, really – just a bedroom, a bathroom, and a small sitting room with a kitchenette – but it was enough for the two of them. Or 'three of them', if you counted the dog. It was cramped, but Remy liked that. He liked having Rogue all up in his business. After spending the first part of his life alone and on the streets, he had developed an appreciation for the comfort of others. There was safety in numbers. Sure, his issues with trust and the fact that he had a habit of being screwed over by powerful men bent on using him for his powers had given him certain loner tendencies, but deep down he knew that in life, it was good to have 'People'. The Thieves Guild were his People, and then Magneto's bunch, and now the X-men. Rogue was his People, and every time he woke up next to her or bumped elbows with her in their cramped little bathroom as they brushed their teeth in the morning, he was reminded that she was his People, and it was good.

But despite all that cramped and cozy goodness, the real truth was that, despite their new 'married' status, not much had changed as far as their relationship was concerned. Rogue was still Rogue, in all her distant and volatile glory. And Remy was still.. well, Remy. He still didn't know what the hell he was doing trying to have a (somewhat) normal relationship, living in a (somewhat) normal home with (somewhat) normal people, and he still had that awful nagging feeling that one of these days he was screw it all up, like he always did.

The Professor called it a 'self-fulfilling prophesy'. And he was supposed to stop thinking that way. Lest he, himself, help the prophesy be fulfilled. Right. Well, easier said than done, and all that jazz.

These, among others, were the thoughts that milled about Remy's head one mid-March afternoon as he went about mixing dried ingredients in the Mansion's kitchen. It was quiet, as most of the Institute's inhabitants had not yet returned from school. David was curled up in the corner chewing on a rawhide bone, having come in an hour before from playing in the melting snow out back when he heard his master return home. It was a typical routine, most weekday afternoons finding Remy in the kitchen, experimenting with the lessons he had learned that day at college, with his dog at his feet. Most the Mansion's residents had picked up on this routine and it's frequently delicious results, which consequently found many of them "conveniently" hovering around the large kitchen and dining area at opportune times. Today, the hoverer happened to be the Professor. Well, less 'hoverer', more 'wheeler'.

"Ah, so you _are_ in here," Xavier observed as he wheeled in through the doorway. "I was working in my office and I thought that I smelled something pleasant. I see I was correct."

"Glad t' hear they _smell_ good, 'least..." Remy muttered as he wiped his flour-covered hands on the side of his jeans.

The Professor observed him with an air of amusement. "You know," he mused, "I do believe that's why they invented _aprons_, so that one's clothing might remain clean while in the kitchen."

Remy glanced at the older mutant for a moment before adding his wet ingredients to his dry. "A lil' flour never hurt nobody. 'Sides, apron's are f' sissies."

"Is that so?"

"Yup."

Xavier wheeled his chair into the room fully, coming to rest a few feet away from his young charge. "And is that what you learned in class today, that _'aprons are for sissies'_?" he jested.

Remy frowned. "No." Unconsciously, he began mixing his concoction with a bit more vigor. "Today I learned dat baking _sucks_."

"Really?" The Professor folded his arms in contemplation. "I must admit, this seems to be quite the sudden turn. I was under the impression that you found cooking to be quite... well, _fun_."

"Cookin' **is** fun. _'Baking'_ sucks." He scowled down at his contemptuous bowl. "Totally different beast. Y' have t' measure everything out _jus'_ right, y' can't play around or get creative wit' anything, an' if y' don' do every little step exactly right, da whole thing goes t' hell. It **sucks**."

Xavier chucked, despite himself. "So you said."

"_And_," Remy continued, "apparently everyone who goes t' culinary school ought t' just **love** baking. An' heaven forbid if y' ain't a damn bakin' expert b'fore walkin' in da doors. Oh, no no no, if y' dare t' enter culinary school wit'out perfectin' y' own damn family-owned recipe f' chocolate chip cookies, well, dat's jus' a damn friggin' outrage. Dat's right, if y' don' know how t' make chocolate chip cookies, y' practically a... culinary idiot, or somethin'. If y' don' know how t' make chocolate chip cookies, y' Aint. Worth. Shit." He punctuated the end of his little rant by dumping the chocolate morsels in his bowl with a little more force than necessary.

"Language, Remy," the Professor chided.

He managed to mumble a half-hearted apology. It took a lot of effort.

Xavier took a long breath. "Well then," he began, looking about the room, "I can assume that little outburst has something to do with the state of the kitchen."

Scattered about **every **available surface around the room were various piles of chocolate chip cookies. Table, island, stove top, and every inch of counter space, all covered in assorted batches of the baked treat in varying size, shape, and color.

Remy grunted in affirmation as the older mutant wheeled his way over to a pile at the end of the table, picking up a cookie from the top. "I thought perhaps you were contributing to a bake sale at the kids' school. Is there a reason you've chosen to make **so** many?"

Remy turned around, leaning back against the counter. "I can't get da damn recipe right." He pointed with his spoon to each batch across the room in turn with a scowl on his face. "Over baked, under baked, too much salt, too much flour, not enough flour, not enough chocolate chips, I don' even _know_ what da hell went wrong with **those** ones..."

The Professor took a bite of his cookie. "Now, I'm sure that you-" His speech was suddenly cut off as the flavors hit his palate. It wasn't until after he had swallowed that he was able to talk again. "Oh _my_." He looked down at the rest of the baked good in his hand, his eyes wide with wonder. "This is a **very** good cookie. I'm not just saying that for your benefit."

"Uh huh."

"Remy, I'm serious. This is _incredibly_ delicious." He tucked back into his treat, a little more enthusiastically this time.

The younger mutant frowned, crossing his arms as he looked to the pile from which the Professor had sampled. "Y' don' think dat one's a little dry?"

"I-" Xavier paused, chewing thoughtfully. He swallowed before responding. "Well, now that you mention it..."

"Ugh!" Remy groaned, throwing his arms up in frustration before turning back around to finish mixing his dough.

It didn't help that Professor laughed at that. Or, chuckled, really. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that today would be classified as a 'bad day' at school."

In other words: '_You're being a total drama queen_'. Yeah, Remy got that message loud and clear.

He sighed. "Yeah. I guess y' could say dat."

The truth was, he'd actually been having quite a few 'bad days' at college. Honestly, he sort of hated school. Which was more than disappointing, because before the semester started he had been just **so **excited. He had been so keyed up about the idea of doing something so quintessentially 'normal'. It was like the one thing that 90% of the population had in common, this huge shared experience, and he was finally breaking into the club. He, Remy Lebeau – former street rat, Master Thief, retired mercenary, part-time superhero and full-time B.A.M.F – was going to _college_. A real college, just like Rogue, or (and he sort of hated to admit, even to himself, how much this one mattered) Scott. The problem, it turned out, was that 'normal' wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

'Normal', as he soon discovered, had a habit of being _mind-numbingly_ boring. More specifically, _'school'_ was boring. He also discovered that 'school' involved a whole **hell** of a lot of sitting. In one place, for extended periods of time. Quietly, and attentively. No one had warned him about that, which really kind of pissed him off. And considering it was a cooking college, there was still a _ridiculous_ amount of reading required.

But the worst part, probably, was the fact that his classmates, for the most part, were a giant group of assholes. Apparently the culinary world had a tendency to attract cocky, overconfident alpha males (and yes, Remy LeBeau was self-aware enough to realize the irony of him, of all people, being annoyed by those particular attributes), and it seemed as if every single one of the newest generation of wannabe-chef douchebags were packed together in each of his first semester classes. Now, normally Remy was the kind of cocky, overconfident alpha male (oh yeah, he was self-aware alright) who could handle a small pond with a lot of big fishes and still come out on top. That's right, he was just that awesome. But college was completely new and foreign territory for him, and he suddenly found his fins and flippers weren't quite as big as he remembered them being. And heaven forbid his classmates take pity on him and show him the ropes, instead of snickering behind his back when he got called out for not raising his hand and waiting to be called on before talking in class. Yeah, in culinary college, Remy LeBeau was pretty much the class dunce, and he _didn't_ like it. Even the females, who were initially attracted by his good looks and charm, lost interest as soon as they spotted his wedding ring.

But probably the biggest downside to college was that Remy was quickly realizing that, in the end, he didn't really care all that much about getting a degree. He wasn't like the other students in his classes, who had big heady dreams of being Executive Chefs and owning their own restaurants. Honestly, he didn't really know what he wanted from the future. He knew he wanted to be with Rogue, and have lots of sex. He hoped that at all times in his life he'd be in some sort of situation that would afford him plenty of opportunities to blow things up. And steal things. And have more sex with Rogue. And he wanted to know how to cook everything in the world, and do it well, but that pretty much summed up his culinary aspirations when it got right down to it.

All in all, he was just starting to think that college, as exciting a prospect as it had initially been, might not be for him. And he wanted to quit. Unfortunately, he didn't have the heart to say it. Everyone at the Institute had been just so damn supportive since the semester had started, giving him daily pep talks and telling him how proud they were of him for being all collegiate. Even Scott. Sure, that one was a little creepy, but it was also unnervingly flattering. But still, he probably had it in him to let ol' One-Eye down – it won't be the first time, after all. His biggest supporter, however, was the Professor, and that was the real problem. He just didn't have it in him to break the old man's poor little wheelchair-pushin' heart.

Yet.

"Well, we all have 'bad days'," Xavier began, "and the important thing to remember is that's all that they are – bad days." He hesitated slightly before reaching for a second cookie. "I really shouldn't..."

Remy glanced back at the older mutant before turning to his bowl, grabbing portions of dough and placing them on an adjacent cookie sheet. "Y' sayin' dat I'm overreacting, ain't y'?"

"By using up our entire supply of flour and filling the kitchen with 15 dozen cookies in a crazy pursuit for chocolate chip perfection, all because of what I can only assume was an ill-perceived slight on your baking skills?" The Professor grinned. "Yes, I think one would classify it as that."

Piotr chose that moment to pop his head through the kitchen's entryway. "Oh, Remy," he said before glancing about the room. "You are cooking, yes?"

"_Baking_," Remy corrected with a slight scowl.

"Right. Well, it smells very nice, and... um-"

Remy rolled his eyes at the large Russian lingering in the doorway. "Y' can come in, have as many as y' want. Not like we're gon' be runnin' low anytime soon..." He glanced back at Piotr practically skipping across the kitchen as he put his latest batch into the oven. "Not those, Pete," he warned as his friend reached for a pile on the counter. "Y' won't like 'em. Try da ones on da table."

As Piotr sat down and began eating his cookie, a quiet settled upon the room. Remy recognized what the Professor was doing, in his silence. It was an old routine. Xavier had recently decided that the young Cajun had made enough progress that formal therapy sessions were no longer necessary, but he still liked to initiate these little 'chats', giving him the opportunity to open up in a more casual setting. Remy wasn't sure if he was supposed to be aware of the real purpose of these confabs, but if not then the Professor must really think he was dense, because it was painfully obvious. Either way, Remy knew that this was the point in the conversation in which the Professor liked for him to come to his own self-analyzing conclusion.

He sighed, setting the oven's timer and turning back to face the older man. "I think maybe I'm jus' a bit on edge today. Stupid nicotine cravings..."

That was another thing: he'd quit smoking. Or, more accurately, he was 'quitting' smoking. Rogue had never liked it, and now that they were '_living together'_ living together, he figured it was cruel to make her choke on the smell of stale cigarette smoke in her own room day in and day out. He _had_ been doing pretty good, keeping calm and fighting the cravings with nicotine gum and Tai Chi (that one was a little humiliating, but hey, he did it with Logan – a fellow bad ass – and it actually _helped_). He'd just passed his two month mark without a cigarette the week before, when he'd come across a couple kids at college having a break between classes, and in a knee-jerk reaction he'd asked if he could bum a smoke. Now it was like he'd started back at square one, the cravings just as strong and persistent as they'd been when he had stopped the first time.

"We could buy you more of the gum, if you think that would help," the Professor offered.

Remy shook his head. "Don' work this time, I already tried. Must've built up a resistance or somethin'." He rubbed the back of his neck casually. "I can usually handle it, but I didn' get dat much sleep las' night." He sighed. "_Again_."

Xavier frowned. "You're still having that nightmare, are you?"

He nodded, crossing his arms. "Yeah. 's annoying. It's not even dat bad a dream 'cept it keeps wakin' me up and then I can' get back t' sleep again. I thought about wakin' Rogue up last night for a little late-night screwin' to tire me back out, but she had her early class dis mornin'. Plus, she don' really like humpin' da way dat _really_ wears me out."

Piotr choked on his cookie from across the room as the Professor cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Y' okay there, Pete?" Remy inquired innocently. "Here, lemme get y' some milk..."

"Have you talked to Rogue about it yet?" Xavier asked.

"Nah," Remy responded, crossing the room with Piotr's drink in hand, "I don't think she'd take it dat well. She's so sensitive. 's nothin' personal, though. I know my _Chere_ likes t' be in control an' all, but I don' really like bein' held down in bed. Dat ain't exactly da easiest thing ta tell y' girl wit'out hurtin' her feelin's. 'Sides, a _homme_ needs t' be in charge, y' know? I like rough sex, I _do_, I jus' wanna be on **top**, 's all -"

"- I meant about the _dreams_, Remy," the Professor cut in.

"Oh." He handed Piotr the glass. "Drink up, Pete, y' face is turnin' red.

"Um, thanks," Piotr responded sheepishly.

Remy plopped down into a boneless slouch in an open chair. "I don' really wanna bug Rogue about some stupid dream... she got enough of those t' deal wit' on her own from all da people she's touched. You know da kind o' memories Logan's got goin' on up in his head? Think dat _homme_ might need a hug every now and then..."

Xavier nodded. "I'm well aware of the kind of memories that Rogue has absorbed from Logan. Still, I don't think she would find it to be a bother if you were to confide in her. I think more than anything she would appreciate you opening up and sharing your feelings with her."

"Nah, Rogue likes men."

The Professor sighed. "_Men_ can express their emotions. As I've explained countless times already..." After waiting fruitlessly for a response from Remy – who was now busy scratching behind David's ear, the dog having jumped up immediately upon seeing his Master sit down – Xavier continued. "Besides, I think Rogue may be particularly interested in sharing in this with you considering your nightmare involves her, and your future child."

Ah, the dream. As Remy had already stated, it really wasn't that bad, in and of itself. It wasn't anywhere near as horrific as his occasional nightly recounting of his time with Essex or the deadly fight with Jullien or any number of similar memory-based nightmares that he was prone to have. And really, it was nothing compared to the type of dreams that plagued his wife. But this one was just... unsettling, for some reason. And irritatingly persistent. It always started out the same way: Rogue was pregnant. He would stand by her as her stomach grew bigger and more vast by the second. And then, suddenly, he would be holding the baby. It was always a boy, and it always had his eyes. He would just be standing there, holding this baby with Rogue at his side, and then without warning, he and Rogue would vanish. The last image he would remember before he woke up was always of his child, his son, staring out into infinity with those same red-on-black eyes as he lay there, utterly and completely alone.

And that was it. That was the dream.

Remy sighed, still petting his dog gently with a slight grimace on his face. "Y' say '_future child_' like it's really happenin', right now. Like Rogue's pregnant or somethin'. She ain't pregnant."

"I know that, Remy."

"An' we ain't _tryin'_ t' get pregnant." he added. "Dat'd be ridiculous. Hank jus' wants t' start on da research early. Dat's all."

Not long after their elopement, Remy had had a little talk with Dr. McCoy about the possibilities of Rogue carrying a child. Because he'd promised her that if she wanted children, he'd find a way to make it happen. In the future. Many years down the line. When they were older, and ready. But not now. Beast, however, thought it would be prudent for him to begin researching the subject as soon as possible, just so that when – many, **many** years in the future – the two Southerners decided it was time to start a family, he would be ready to help. And Remy was okay with this. Because he'd promised Rogue. And because 'harvesting his sample' had actually been pretty fun. Anything in the name of science, and all that jazz.

He was totally, and completely okay with this.

"I'm aware of Hank's research schedule and his reasoning behind it," Xavier stated. "Perhaps, though, the recent talk about children makes you a little uncomfortable, and that's why you've been having these dreams."

Remy shook his head. "I'm totally okay wit' it." He glanced over at Piotr, who was nibbling on his second cookie. "I'm totally okay wit' it."

"Yes, _clearly_," the Professor deadpanned.

"I think it is alright for you to not want children now," Piotr spoke up as he swallowed his last bite. "You and Rogue are far too young."

"I _know_ dat," Remy replied with a roll of his eyes. "Dat's why we're _not_ tryin' t' get pregnant."

"I would like to have children of my own someday," Piotr added. "When I have finished my degree and have a steady job, and a house, and a stable life. You are prudent to wait, my friend."

"I'll be sure t' tell Kitty dat," Remy quipped.

Piotr frowned slightly. "Kitty and I are not married."

Remy smirked. "Details, no? Nothin' but details..." The Cajun chuckled to himself as Piotr looked down uncomfortably, his face turning red again.

"Another theory," The Professor began, redirecting the conversation, "would be that the child in your dream is not actually your child."

Remy turned back to him. "How so?"

"Perhaps that child in your dreams, the baby with the red and black eyes, is actually _you_."

Remy stared at the older mutant for a moment. "I'm not a baby."

"Yes, I know that, Remy. What I'm saying is that maybe, in your mind, the baby _represents_ you."

Pause. "But, I'm not a baby."

Xavier sighed. "At the end of your dream, the baby is left all alone as his parents disappear, correct? Perhaps this is your subconscious's way of expressing a lingering curiosity about your biological parents, seeing that, as far as you can remember, you were abandoned as an infant, much like the child in your dream."

Remy crossed his arms, leaning back. "I guess dat makes sense."

Xavier nodded thoughtfully. "Have you ever looked into finding your parents?"

Of course he'd thought about it. Any kid who grew up without a set of stable, biological parents had that inherent, all most physical need inside them to seek out those from whence they sprang, and Remy was no different. He spent many a night dreaming of his parentage, wondering who they were, _where_ they were, when and how they had decided that he wasn't worth keeping. Had it been his eyes – his obvious sign of mutation, of _difference_ – that had them running, or was it something deeper that they sensed. Had they looked for his inner worth, his inner soul, and found him wanting? Or perhaps they hadn't rejected him, but instead were the victims of dire circumstances which tore them away from him, ripping away his only chance at a happy, stable home. These thoughts and questions had plagued him for as long he could remember, with the same fervor as all parent-less children. But it was not something that he cared to admit. Being alone for so long had taught him that he had to be _strong_. He couldn't be seen as vulnerable, fragile, the type of person who longed for his _mommy_. Those types of desires were the ones that he kept hidden, way way deep down in that part of his heart and mind that he liked to think he could smother when needed, the part that he could control.

Remy shook his head. "Kind of asked Jean-Luc about it once, but he sort of blew it off as a waste o' time – an' when Jean-Luc told y' t' drop somethin', it was probably best dat y' did, _d'accord_? Plus, it's not like I had da kind o' childhood dat leaves a paper trail."

"Perhaps not a 'paper' trail, but you certainly didn't just appear out of thin air. And quite frankly, it's just not possible for a child to survive on their own until at least a certain age. _Someone_ had to have cared for you as an infant, as a toddler."

"Yeah, but how am I supposed t' figure out who those people are?"

The Professor thought for a moment. "Well, you could start with that man Fagan who organized the child gang that you ran with when Jean-Luc adopted you. You had to come into his company some way, surely he would remember."

"Yeah," Remy responded thoughtfully. "I guess I could do dat..."

"Your brother still wants you to come down to visit for Spring Break, da?" Piotr added.

"That's what he said," Remy nodded. "'Course, I don' know if Mercy's done bein' pissy yet."

He and Rogue had gone down to New Orleans for Christmas and had used the opportunity to tell the LeBeau's that they had wed. It went about as well as when they had revealed that particular news to the X-men. Henri had been shocked, to say the least, but he seemed to have pretty much gotten over it by the end of their trip. Mercy, however, had been livid; not because they were married but because they hadn't been _invited_. Remy also had a sneaking suspicion that his sister-in-law felt like she was duped out of a chance to plan another over-the-top, Southern wedding. She had _not _gotten over it by the time the two had left the Big Easy, and from the few clipped conversations he'd had with her since, Remy had the feeling that she was still pretty miffed about the whole thing. Hell if he knew why it matter so much to her.

"The timing _would_ be convenient," Xavier noted. "However, you shouldn't feel any pressure to rush into this just because we happened to talk about it today. Beginning a search into your past is a major endeavor, and one that should only be done because you truly feel you would like to find the answers to your questions, _whatever_ those answers may be."

"Dat's true, I guess."

"I'm going to recommend once more that you talk with Rogue about all of this," the Professor stated as he started backing away from the counter. "See how she feels about the trip, maybe take some time to think about what you really want. You have a week and a half to decide before your break starts to make a decision." He started to wheel away, stopping momentarily to reach back for one more cookie. He looked back with a tinge of guilt. "I'm saving it. For later."

"'Course y' are," Remy chuckled as the older mutant wheeled out of the room. "Course y' are..."

The Professor said he should talk to Rogue, and he planned to, really. And he wasn't putting it off on purpose. He really wasn't. It just so happened that Kurt got after-school detention that afternoon, meaning that he couldn't port Rogue home from NYU until later than usual. And then, of course, Remy had dinner duty. Sure, they saw each other then, had the usual small-talk 'how was your day' kind of chit-chat, but neither the crowded kitchen nor the dinner table were really the type of place for an intimate, private conversation. And surely it wasn't his fault that Rogue had promised Logan that she would help run a training exercise for the New Recruits that evening.

It was late, after 10, by the time she made it up to their apartment, all sweaty and worn out, her spandex uniform wet and tight against her skin, small clumps of her white-streaked hair sticking to the moisture on the side of her face. She was absolutely beautiful.

Remy sat up straighter on the couch, his eyes wide, putting his motorcycle magazine down next to him. "My oh my," he drawled slowly. "Now ain't y' vision there, _Chere_. Y' get all prettied up jus' f' me?"

She rolled her eyes. "Shut up, jackass." She couldn't hide a slight grin, however, as she crossed over to the kitchenette, getting herself a glass of water. He knew she wasn't really mad.

"Nah, I mean it, Roguey," he said, licking his lips. "Looks like y' been kickin' ass an' takin' names f' da last two hours. 's sexy as sin. Hell, if David wasn't here I'd be strippin' off dat uniform so fast, Pietro himself would be wonderin' how I did it."

Rogue chuckled, glancing at the sleeping beast curled up in the corner. "Like the dog's presence has ever stopped ya in the past."

He stood up from the couch, walking over to her slowly as his eyes raked across her form, taking in every little detail as she leaned back _oh_ so slightly against the sink. He_ had _been planning on talking to her that night, honest. Really, he had. But when she came in looking like that, all hot and bothered and every bit of Southern spunk and kick-ass spitfire that he knew and loved, well... did he really have a choice in the matter?

She watched him with tired eyes and that still-small grin as he stopped in front of her, carefully taking the water glass from her hand and placing it on the counter behind her as he leaned in, his body slowly molding to hers. Wordlessly, his eyes locked with hers, he moved his other hand up to gently brush her cheek with the back of his fingers, trailing them down slowly to the base of her neck. He closed the small distance between them, placing a soft, chaste kiss upon her lips as his hand reached its target and began slowly pulling down the zipper at the back of her uniform.

"Remy..." she warned.

"Shhh," he soothed, pulling her body close with an arm about her waist as his other hand continued to work on that zipper. He turned his head, leaning in to place a slow, seductive kiss on the spot just behind her ear where he knew she liked it, before whispering in her ear. "Let's just get y' out o' these wet clothes."

"Cajun," Rogue sighed. "I've had a _long_-ass day. I'm not in the mood ta-"

"-I know, _Chere_, I know," he interjected. He turned his head back to look at her, his dark eyes sparkling. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against hers. "Jus' dance wit' me."

Rogue's control was getting better, but she still had quite a long way to go before she could consider her powers completely in check, and thus she was still required to keep as much of her skin covered as possible for the majority of the day. With Remy, though, her powers continued to turn off when she was alone with him, just like they had on the day that they married. Knowing that he was the only person she could comfortably touch, Remy made sure that **everyday** his wife got as much skin-to-skin contact with him as possible. Many nights this skin-exposure time led to more... scintillating activities, but often times they would simply strip down to their undergarments and enjoy any number of innocent pastimes, like reading together, watching television, cuddling on the couch, or dancing. Tonight, it was dancing.

He helped Rogue out of her soiled uniform, leaving her standing in their sitting room in her sports bra and black boy-cut panties. He stripped down to his boxer briefs, quickly turning on the CD player before gathering her back up in his arms.

Rogue smirked as he wrapped an arm low around her waist, taking her other hand in his and placing it against his chest, the music starting. "Louie Armstrong again, huh Sugah?"

He smiled. "I love Louie."

She rested her head on his shoulder as he began slowly swaying them to the beat. "I know ya do."

He held her tight as _La Vie En Rose _swelled in the background, moving to the music gently, carefully. The rest of the world faded away, all save for the sexy, beautiful woman in his arms, the woman that he loved. He turned them slowly, his eyes locking with hers as he lightly dipped her in time with the music, bringing her back up to him in a slow, seductive pull. As she tucked her head back under his chin, he closed his eyes, singing quietly with the melody.

"Hold me close and hold me fast, the magic spell you cast, this is _la vie en rose_," he whispered. "When you kiss me heaven sighs, and tho I close my eyes, I see _la vie en rose_..."

He let the New Orleans legend take back over, simply letting the music wash over him with the overwhelming feeling of _her_, of her skin against his, the smell of her and him together and the way her soft, curved form seemed to somehow fit against his hard, sharp angles. The moment... well, it was perfect.

Which of course meant...

"OMG, Rogue, I've been trying to catch you all d- Holy fetch! Are you guys _naked_?"

Remy released Rogue with an exaggerated groan, the unexpected interruption completely obliterating the beautiful trance he had previously been wrapped up in. Kitty stood just inside the door, her hand clamped dramatically over her eyes.

"Kitty," Rogue practically sighed the name, "we're not naked. And most people would consider it rude ta just _phase_ right inta a married couple's room without any warnin'. Or invitation. I mean, seriously, 'knocking' is generally considered standard protocol."

Kitty uncovered her eyes tentatively. "You're not naked?"

"_Non_, _Chaton_."

She looked at them for a second. "You're... in your underwear?" She paused for a second, then lifted one hand to block Remy's... '_nether regions_' from her view. He rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, Kitty."

"You're standing around in your room... in your underwear."

"Dancin'," Rogue clarified.

"...Dancing?"

"_Oui_."

"In your underwear."

"Yes."

"So..." Kitty began slowly, "you're dancing. In your underwear. To jazz music."

"Yes, Kitty."

She paused. "Oh my gosh, that is **so** effing sexy."

Remy groaned, giving up and walking over to the couch, plopping himself down. Clearly they weren't going to be getting back to their activities any time soon. "Is there a point t' dis interruption?"

Kitty shook her head quickly – to clear the cobwebs, or something. "Right. Well, okay, so, first off, I'm like, **so** sorry for barging in here-"

"-Which ya should have known better than ta do," Rogue interjected.

"Yeah, because I totally should have anticipated that it was 'Naked Dancing With The Stars' hour up on the third floor," Kitty rolled her eyes.

"It wouldn't have mattered what we were doin' if ya had _knocked_," Rogue noted.

"And I'm sorry about that, the whole knocking thing."

"Which ya already said."

"Y' goin' around in circles there, ladies."

"I recognize that tree."

Remy stared at her darkly. "You know," Kitty continued, "like, if we were walking around, and we got lost, and kept passing by the same tree-"

"We get it," Rogue interrupted.

"Sorry. It's just," Kitty said sheepishly, gesturing at Remy, "he's like sitting there with all his... 'business' on display – well, not on _display_, really, because technically it's covered. But it's certainly being showcased or something, and it's very unnerving..."

Remy sighed, quietly asking a higher power for some sort of patience. "Okay, _Chaton_, repeat after me: I came in here _because_..."

"... _because_," the tiny brunette picked up, turning towards the other female, "Rogue, I wanted to tell you that... um, okay, you know that... _exam_ that I was worried about? Well, I got my... scores back. And, um, I failed."

Rogue's eyes widened. "You _failed_?"

"No! I mean, yes, but no. I mean like, I failed in the _good_ way. You know?"

Remy noted the relief on Rogue's face. "Oh, that's great Kitty," she responded.

Kitty nodded. "Yeah, I know, right? And um... thanks for helping me... study." She paused for a moment before turning to Remy in that nervous, fidgety way of hers. "It was like, a really tough exam," she explained, trying to act casual. "I was totally up all night cramming for it." She stopped for a moment, then snort laughed unattractively. "Oh my gosh," she giggled, glancing at Rogue quickly before looking back at him, "you **so** don't know how funny that is."

"I'm gonna take y' word f' it," he drawled dryly.

"Alright, so," Kitty began, clearly looking uncomfortable now, "I'm just going to leave now and let you guys get back to your... sexy underwear dancing thing." And with that, she phased out of the room as suddenly as she had appeared.

Alone once again, Rogue turned back to Remy, walking over and dropping herself down on the couch next to him, their dance clearly over for now.

He put an arm around her shoulders, snuggling her close against his body. "So what was dat all about really?"

Rogue shook her head. "It's nothin'. Girl stuff – Kitty's, not mine." She sighed. "It's too bad the Professor already promised Jean and Scott the boathouse after they get married."

"The door t' the boathouse ain't any harder t' phase through, _Chere."_

Rogue chuckled. "That's true. I guess privacy is a luxury when yer an X-man, wherever ya live." She leaned her head back against his shoulder. "Might be nice ta get away, though, just the two of us."

"I was thinkin' we should go down t' N'Orleans f' Spring Break." He just blurted it out before he even thought about it.

Rogue turned her head to look at him. "Really? We were just there at Christmas, ya wanna go back already?"

"Henri really wants us t' come down. Practically begged me."

It was a half-truth, really. Henri did tell him that he'd love for them to come visit again, but that was it. He didn't even know why he said it, why he didn't just tell her the truth, about the whole conversation that he'd had with Xavier. He just... didn't. The words had just tumbled out of his mouth before his brain could even formulate the thoughts, and now it was done.

"Oh. Well... alright," Rogue responded. "I mean, it's not like we'll get a whole lot more privacy at your family's place, but it's still good ta get out of the Mansion. And the state." She turned back around, leaning back against him once again. "Seriously, I'm **so** sick of New York's crap, I could use a breath of Southern air."

He smirked. "I thought dat's what I was here for."

"Right, right." She sighed peacefully. "So, we're goin' ta New Orleans."

Remy swallowed, wondering if, not for the first time, he'd just made a bigger problem for himself than he could finagle his way out of. Like he was screwing everything up all over again. He worked his jaw a little. It would be fine. It would all work out. They'd go down there, Rogue would get the break that she needed, he'd do a little discrete digging, and at the end of the week they'd come back home with this whole thing out of his system and move forward with their lives. Everything would be _fine_.

He hugged her to him a little bit tighter, just for a moment. "We're goin' t' N'Orleans."

* * *

><p><em>"Please leave your review at the beep"<em>

Beep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own 'em. Not a lick.**

Thank you for patience. (This is the point in which I just assume you've been waiting patiently) Hopefully updates won't always take this long, but the might not be as quick as they were when I was writing 'Normal'. My available writing time is just not what it used to be.

Reviewer Quote of the Week: from Ben40 - the first Anonymous RQotW. Go Ben.

_As a side note: just being married would not scare off all the interested females in his class. Heck it might attract a few as plenty of teaching assistants can attest._

HA! Okay, now on with the show...

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><p><em>Three months and I'm still breathing<em>

_Been a long road since those hands I left my tears in_

_But I know, it's never really over..._

_- Sober, Kelly Clarkson_

Two breaths in. One breath out.

Remy sat in the middle of the Danger Room floor, his legs crossed and his eyes closed, his hands relaxed and resting on top of his knees. The room's customary simulations were turned off, leaving the large space open, and unusually dark. Quiet.

Two breaths in. One breath out.

It had hit him that morning before he'd even fully woken up; that aching, uncontrollable, gotta-have-a-cigarette-now-before-I-jump-out-of-my-skin _need_. The cravings had been getting progressively worse for days. He'd tried the gum before he even got out of bed. It was a bust, just like he knew it would be. The next attempt was going for a run with Rogue and the dog, but that only served to make things worse, seeing as his girl didn't exactly appreciate being told to get her "fat ass" moving. He wasn't even sure why he'd said it; he knew the only reason she was lagging was because David kept stopping to sniff stuff, and no one in their right mind would ever consider her tight little tushy anything close to 'fat'. He was just _that_ irritable. He had to do something. And coffee wasn't it, either.

Two breaths in. One breath out.

He focused on the oxygen entering and leaving his body, trying to mentally visualize its journey through his circulatory system, sweeping through each area of his body in a giant, calming wave. His toes. His legs. His abdomen. His chest. His arms. His hands. He imagined the oxygen moving throughout him, attempting to smother out the fires of anxiety one by one, willing his body to relax.

Two breaths in. One breath out.

"The hell, Gumbo, what're ya doing in here, having a seance or some shit?"

Remy sighed, opening his eyes. Yeah, the peace was officially broken. Again.

He turned his head, looking back over his shoulders as the Danger Room doors slid shut behind Logan.

"Was meditatin'."

Logan quirked an eyebrow as he tossed his workout towel to the side of the room. "In the middle of the Danger Room?"

Remy turned back, working the kinks out of his neck. "'s da only place on da whole damn property dat's _quiet_."

"Really." Logan paused, crossing his arms. "Not even up on the third floor?"

"Stormy's up there in da music room wit' Jean workin' on dat song o' hers."

Logan cringed, and Remy didn't blame him. The redhead had decided to take some sort of choral class for her fine arts requirement at NYU, but it turned out that little miss Perfect-At-Everything couldn't sing. As in '_couldn't sing_' couldn't sing. Not that Remy was _trying _to be judgmental or anything like that, it was just the cold hard facts. His c_here_ wasn't going to be dropping an album anytime soon, but at least she could carry a tune, hit the right notes at generally the right time. Jeanie, bless her little heart, was about as tone-deaf as a person could be. Actually, Remy didn't know it was _possible_ to be quite that tone-deaf, but apparently it was. Storm was sweet enough to try and help her, but everyone at the Mansion knew that was a doomed mission if there ever was one. Remy actually found the quirk quite endearing – honestly, it made the redhead a whole hell of a lot more likable knowing that she wasn't so annoyingly flawless after all – but it certainly made living only 15 feet away from the music room unfortunate at times.

"Well, did ya try out back?" Logan offered.

"Kiddies are playin' Mutant Ball." He paused. "Or, Mutant Tag. Mutant Race. I don' know, one o' those games they made up, 'Mutant' somethin' or other."

Logan rolled his eyes. "All their games are 'Mutant' something or other." He thought for a beat as Remy flopped back, stretching out on the floor and laying an arm across his eyes wearily. "What about-"

"Bobby's playin' video games in da den," Remy cut in, "Scott an' Kurt are playin' pool in da game room, Hank's still reorganizing da library so dat place's a mess, Professor's on a call in 'is office, Piotr's workin' on da X-Van in da garage, Tabby and Jubes are doin' breakfast dishes in da kitchen..." He sighed. "Dis place is a friggin' madhouse on a Saturday."

Logan studied him for a second. "Nicotine cravings are that bad, huh?" It wasn't really a question.

He hesitated before answering. "_Oui_." He didn't really like admitting such a petty weakness to someone like Logan, but it wasn't like it wasn't terribly obvious already.

Logan nodded. "Alright. Get up."

Remy looked up at the feral mutant for a moment before deciding it was probably best that he did as he was told. He stood up as Logan called out to the control room.

"Computer, run program: Wolverine 7." The empty room around them was suddenly transformed into a vast, vacant field on a quiet Japanese mountaintop. The air was cool, the grass beneath their feet green and soft, and the only sound was the gentle rustling of a mild breeze.

"I thought y' came in here t' workout," Remy questioned as he looked around the now-familiar surroundings.

"I did," Logan answered, quietly moving to his usual spot. "But now I'm doin' something else. Starting position, let's go."

Remy walked around to stand behind him where he always did for Tai Chi, his feet parallel and knees slightly bent, his arms along his sides with the palms open and facing his body. He tried to relax, focusing on his breathing and attempting to 'feel the earth', as Logan had taught him. He wasn't exactly sure how one was supposed to 'feel the earth'... mostly he just thought about dirt and hoped that was good enough. Slowly, they moved through the first set of 12 movements in silence. They spent a few extra centering moments in the Grand Tai Chi before moving into the second set. As they pushed through to the Single Whip, Logan spoke up.

"I hear you and Rogue are headed down South for spring break."

Remy quirked an eyebrow. "Uh, yeah."

Well, that was strange. In the three months that they had been married, Logan had refrained from talking about both Rogue and Remy in the same sentence. It had become sort of an unspoken rule that the Wolverine would tolerate the union as long as he didn't have to actually acknowledge it. In any way. Seriously. Back in December he had interrupted a Saint's game to give Remy the typical '_you hurt her, cheat on her, take her for granted or get her pregnant and I'll be sending you back to the Bayou in pieces_' speech, and that was the absolute last he'd spoken on the subject.

"When're ya leaving?"

"Week from today."

Logan nodded, moving with slow precision to the next position. A quiet settled back on the room for another minute as they continued their exercise.

"You gonna go see the old man while you're down there?"

It took a moment for Remy to respond. "Don't know." He paused. "Maybe."

He hadn't visited Jean-Luc's grave when they went down for Christmas. He just... wasn't ready yet. It felt like he had _just_ been there, and he hadn't exactly left the place on good terms.

"Hmmm," Logan responded thoughtfully. "Ya oughta think about it."

He left it at that. That's what Remy liked about Logan. He wasn't like Xavier, he didn't push for information or meaning, didn't require anything from a conversation other than conversation. Didn't make you say it out loud when he knew what you meant without. And if he wanted to give you advice, he just gave it. He didn't make you _ask_ for it when you weren't really sure you wanted it in the first place. Remy appreciated the Professor and respected the effort he'd put into him, but Logan was just easier. He _got_ Logan.

They finished their second set and moved on to the third before Logan spoke again.

"How you doin' with all that, anyway?" he asked as they turned their bodies, shifting their weight onto one foot, lifting the other.

"Wit' what?"

They raised their arms. "Your dad. His passing. All that."

Remy swallowed. "It's fine. 'm fine."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He paused. "Not that I don'... I think about him, y' know? Not all the time, jus'... But it's – I can handle it."

Logan hummed thoughtfully in response.

They concluded their last Grand Tai Chi in silence. The breeze around them picked up slightly, bringing with it the soft tinkling of a distant wind chime. Their exercise finished, Logan walked quietly over to the field's edge, where the mountaintop sloped down and one could see a quaint little Japanese village a great distance below them. Remy followed behind him, stopping next to him to look down upon the small town. Logan never talked about it directly, but he knew that the feral mutant had a meaningful connection to that place, to something or someone in it. After all, he had programed this specific mountaintop for his relaxation exercises, and often he would end their Tai Chi sessions by taking a few minutes to simply gaze down upon the small homes below. Logan was a man of few words, generally. He didn't talk about whatever it was that was down there, not exactly, but Remy could see it. He could see it in that _look_ in his eyes, the look that suddenly made him appear just as old as he really was, even if just within the confines of those two dark orbs.

"It's like a living thing, grief." Logan's sudden declaration was soft, quiet. His voice was steady as he continued to gaze off into the distance. "It hits ya hard, at first. Like a tidal wave that crashes into you, pulls ya under and throws ya around for a while before you can finally pull yourself up for air. And then it slumbers." He paused. "It sleeps and it waits and it _watches_. The first strike, that's the one that people see, and when it's over, they think that they're safe, but they're not. It waits until your guard is down, and that's when it makes its move. It attacks, and it keeps on attacking. Sometimes it will pummel ya, knock ya to the ground, and sometimes it just moves in and gnaws on your leg a little. But it's _there_."

Remy swallowed, Logan's words and that far-off look in his eyes causing his throat to constrict. He continued.

"Ya can't run from it, Gumbo. Ya can't hide. Because it lives _inside_ of you. It's a part of you now, it's a part of who ya are." He took a breath. "Ya have to nurture it. Tend to it, help it grow. Tame it. It's not going away, but it'll calm with time, grow tired and old like we all do, if ya let it. But ya can't ignore it. It won't let you. If ya try, it will keep on coming, hittin' ya and hittin' ya until ya finally accept that it _belongs_ to you now."

Logan turned his head, looking at the young Cajun for the first time. "Do you understand what I'm sayin' to you?"

Remy nodded, blinking away the moisture in his eyes that he hadn't even realized was forming.

He knew what Logan meant, about the hits. Jean-Luc's death was hard at first, but he thought that he had gotten over it. In a week, he had convinced himself that he didn't even need to think about it. Jean-Luc was just a man, a man who took him in and called him his son. That was all. He had used him. Yes, they'd had good times too, but all that was in the past. He could move forward, or so he thought.

It came at him when he least expected it. He would be fine for days, and then suddenly the grief would hit him so hard he would forget how to breath. It came and went in waves, in patterns he couldn't quite predict. He'd just be going about his day and something would pass by that reminded him of his father – big things, like a stranger with his general build and coloring or mentions of his name, and small, like a whiff of his cologne or a tremor in the same baritone of his voice. And sometimes it didn't even need a trigger... it just came. There were times that he would wake up in the middle of the night, Rogue snoozing beside him, with an ache in the pit of his stomach and an overwhelming feeling of _panic_ threatening to swallow him whole. It would just pummel him, that incredible sense that something was gone, something was taken, his world had been changed and it was wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

And sometimes he was fine.

Except, he wasn't. Not really.

Logan looked back to the view below them, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly through his nose. "Go see your dad, Gumbo," he stated, no question in his voice. "Go see him while your down there."

Remy looked down and swallowed. "Okay."

He didn't talk about Jean-Luc's death with Xavier. He didn't talk to Rogue about the grief.

When it came to his father, he only talked to Logan.

The older mutant turned, his back to the town. He looked at Remy. "How're the cravings?"

He opened his mouth to respond before stopping. He hadn't even noticed, but at some point the raging maelstrom of need had been soothed, dying down to just a low simmer of desire. It was manageable now. He looked up. "_Bien_. 's better now."

Logan nodded. "Good. Computer," he called out, "end simulation."

The Japanese landscape faded around them, leaving them back in the vast starkness of the empty Danger Room floor. Logan turned, grabbing his towel from where he had tossed it. Remy watched as he left the room without a word, the large mechanical door swooshing closed behind him.

After giving Logan a couple minutes head start to get away without having to acknowledge his atypical display of emotional wisdom, he left the Danger Room himself, heading up to the kitchen for a late breakfast. He'd pretty much missed the meal, since his earlier nicotine rampage had made Ray's amateur attempt at homemade oatmeal so irritatingly flavorless he'd been tempted to chuck his bowl at the little pinhead's brain. Yes, he'd been in **quite** the fool mood earlier.

Bobby was already in the kitchen by the time he got up there, munching on a plate of cookies leftover from the Cajun's baking blitzkrieg from earlier in the week. Remy gave a halfhearted two-finger salute in response to the ice-mutant's "_'Sup_", and made his way over to the fridge. As he pulled out the egg carton and placed it on the counter, Kitty and Rogue entered the room in a flurry of bags, boxes, and packages.

"What've you two _belle femmes_ been up to?" Remy asked casually as he pulled a skillet out from the cabinet.

"Runnin' errands," Rogue responded, placing her bags on the kitchen table. "That, and avoidin' that dark cloud you've been sportin' since ya woke up. Ya done bein' an asshole yet?"

"_**Yes**_," he sighed dramatically. "An' y' know why I was actin' like dat. I'm doin' it f' _you_."

She sat down, putting on her most sweetly-sarcastic smile. "Thank you for quitin' smoking, darlin'. Please try harder not to be such a bitch while doin' it."

Kitty rolled her eyes as she placed a small white box on the table. "Wow," she deadpanned. "You two are so damn cute. Seriously, keep this up, it's totally not making Bobby and I uncomfortable at all."

"Huh?" Bobby looked up, his mouth full as crumbs tumbled down his chin.

The tiny brunette rolled her eyes again. "Go back to your cookie, numb-nuts." She turned back to Rogue, her eyes brightening. "Forks?"

Rogue's mood changed instantly, her face lifting. "I'll get 'em."

Remy glanced over this shoulder from his place at the stove top at Rogue as she crossed to the utensils drawers. "Forks f' what?"

She grinned, her eyes sparkling. "_Cupcakes_."

"Cupcakes? Really?" he asked incredulously.

Kitty rolled her eyes. "No, not just 'cupcakes'. These are _cupcakes_, from The Dirty Sheets Bakery down on Main. No kidding, they're like diabetic orgasms packed in cute little pink wrappers."

"Amen," Rogue nodded as she sat back down, opening up the small white box in front of them.

Remy rolled his eyes eyes as he plated his eggs. "I 'm seriously doubtin' any baked good is really gonna be as enjoyable as an _orgasm_."

"_S'mores_, Remy. In a cupcake!" Kitty held out her treat for him to see.

He scoffed. "I hate t' think what dis says about poor Petey's performance level in da bedroom."

"Oh. My. _Word_," Rogue moaned as she bit into her cupcake. "I've laid in bed dreamin' about this red velvet for days. Honestly, **days**."

"Gee, what's that say about _you_, huh?" Bobby teased.

Remy shot him a vicious glare. "Shut up."

Kitty giggled in a sugary high. "I know I said I was only going to eat half and save the rest for another day, but I'm totally downing this sucker."

Remy gazed upon the two girls with disbelief. "Y' know it's only 10:30 in da mornin'."

Rogue scoffed. "They're cupcakes, not alcohol."

"Yeah, and not a word out of you about it all going straight to our 'fat asses', thank you very much," Kitty shot back with a grin.

His jaw dropped indignantly. "You told her 'bout dat?"

Rogue ignored him as she continued devouring her treat. "How about we change the subject before my cupcake euphoria is ruined and I **really** start gettin' pissed?" she suggested darkly.

A quiet fell upon the room, all inhabitants knowing better than to invoke the wrath of that particular Southern Belle.

"Why do they call it an 'in your window'?" Bobby asked suddenly, all eyes turning to him.

"_Quoi_?" Remy questioned, leaning back against the counter with his plate in his hands.

"'In your window'." Bobby repeated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Bobby," Remy replied, taking a bite of his eggs, "I have no idea what da hell y' talkin' 'bout."

"An 'in your window'," he began. "You know, like when you walk up to a super hot chick, give her a wink and a super smooth Beiber hair flick, and then say something wicked, like '_Hey girl, is there a mirror in your pocket? Because I can see myself in your __**pants**__, yo_'. Why do they call that a 'sexual in your window'? Is it like a Peeping Tom reference or something?"

Remy stared at the younger mutant blankly for a moment, his fork frozen in his hands. He turned to the girls.

"Am I on camera?"

Kitty cleared her throat, putting her cupcake down. "First of all, Bobby, what you just did there? Ew. Secondly, that was more of a 'pick up line', and a bad one at that. Thirdly, it's called a sexual '_innuendo_'."

"What'd I say?"

"'In your window'."

"Right," Bobby nodded. "In your window."

"No, not right. _Innuendo_," Kitty corrected.

"That's what I said."

"Yeah, it's _so_ not."

"Holy _hell_," Rogue interrupted, "can we please change the subject, **again**, before my brain melts out my ears?"

"Ooh!" Kitty exclaimed suddenly. "Remy, you've got a big package."

"_**That's what she said," **_was the unified declaration.

"_That's_ an 'in your window', am I right?" Bobby asked hopefully.

Kitty scrunched her brow in thought. "Meh, kind of a gray area."

"I thought we were changin' the subject." Rogue pointed out with a hint of danger.

"The _mail_, Rogue," Kitty explained.

"Oh, right." She turned, reaching to grab a large box from where she had placed it on the chair beside her. "Here, this came for ya, Swamp Rat. Looks like it was sent from the Guild."

He set his plate down and reached out to take it from her, glancing at her incredulously. "How in da world do y' forget about bringin' in a big ol' heavy package?"

"_Cupcakes_." She replied simply.

Remy scoffed as he turned his attention back to the box in his hand. He opened it, pulling out a large, leather bound reference-sized book, the bindings old and worn. A small note was attached to the book's cover.

"Is it from Henri?" Rogue asked as she took her last bite.

He shook his head. "Non. Note's from Marcel." He looked up. "He one o' da newer Thiefs. We got 'im doing office stuff 'round da headquarters most o' da time."

"So why'd he send ya the book?"

Remy shrugged. "Hell if I know. Marcel's an idiot. Henri probably asked 'im ta order a pizza or somethin' an' da dumbass got confused." He opened the front cover. "'s one o' da Guild History books. Be hell t' pay if dis gets lost." He stood up straighter, putting the book under his arm. "I'm gonna take dis upstairs an' put it someplace safe before anything happens t' it an we're forced t' feed Marcel t' da gators." As he crossed the room to the door, he glanced over his shoulder. "Enjoy y' _cupcakes, Chere_."

Walking down the hall, he heard Kitty behind him.

"That was a joke, about the gators... right?"

He took his time making his way up to their third floor apartment, all casual-like. When he finally got there, he shut the door behind him, quietly latching the lock. The truth was, he _had _asked Marcel to send the book to him, had him overnight it and everything. It just happened that Marcel was already the perfect cover should anyone ask what's up... he really _was_ a dumbass.

He sat down at the small desk in the sitting room, placing the book in front of him. He carefully opened it, the leather creaking. He leafed through the pages slowly, the scent of stale paper and stuffy back rooms wafting up to him. The newer Guild books were created on computer, printed on expensive laser-jet printers and bound to last. The older books were precarious, type-writer made, the ink prone to smudging when met with the heat and oils found in human skin. He took a minute to skim through the pages, exploring the book's contents, but he didn't really need to. Remy _knew _this book, though he'd only encountered it one time before. After a moment, he built up the courage to turn to the page he was really looking for.

Page 376. Two thirds down the page. _Le Diable Blanc_.

His breath caught in his chest as he ghosted his fingers over the words. He read the section, the prophesy, but he didn't really need to, he'd already pretty much memorized it to heart. The memories came flooding back to him as if it had only been yesterday that he'd first discovered the book, the entry with his nickname. He had ripped the page out back then, bringing it with him to confront his father. Someone had carefully secured it back in place with invisible tape. He ran his finger down the length of it, his heart clenching at the thought that Jean-Luc had probably been the one who had made the repair.

He didn't want to be reading this. In all honesty, he never really wanted to see that book ever again. It hurt in a way that was so much easier just to avoid all together. But if he was going to find out where he came from, this was a place to start. There were clues here. He pushed that empty, hollow ache deep deep down until it fell below his feet and he brought his eyes back to the page's contents. Under the section in question there was a quickly scribbled, hand-written note. The Guild didn't keep a detailed reference system organizing and connecting the contents of their History books, but when it came up, record keepers would occasionally make footnotes regarding pertinent sections in other books. At the bottom of _his_ section, there was one of these footnotes.

_Antiquary_. That was all it said. And it was written in Jean-Luc's handwriting.

Remy took a slow, deep breath, sitting back in his chair. He _really_ wanted a cigarette. Maybe it was this whole trip to New Orleans, and the little covert fact-finding mission it entailed. Maybe it was that everything lately seemed to be reminding him of his recently deceased father. And maybe it was because he was lying to Rogue. He sighed. Keeping secrets was second nature to him, but it was risky business when you're married to a mutant with the ability to steal your memories. It was just another reason why being with Rogue was probably a bad idea. She was just wrong for him on so many levels, but he'd always had a habit of wanting what he really shouldn't have.

Like right now. He really, _really_ wanted a cigarette. He closed his eyes, and tried to think about dirt.

Two breaths in. One breath out.

* * *

><p>Two months ago my sweet 9 yo niece Rachel was tragically killed in 13-car pileup in Seattle. A week and a half ago my 20 yo cousin passed away. Me and grief? Yeah, we're pretty tight right now.<p>

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